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Crash on the levee, mama, Waterīs gonna overflow, Swampīs gonna rise, No boatīs gonna row.

 
Bob Dylan
09/06/2005 09:45 PM
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Crash on the levee, mama, Waterīs gonna overflow, Swampīs gonna rise, No boatīs gonna row.
Crash on the levee, mama,
Waterīs gonna overflow,
Swampīs gonna rise,
No boatīs gonna row.
Now, you can train on down
To Williams Point,
You can bust your feet,
You can rock this joint.
But oh mama, ainīt you gonna miss your best friend now?
Youīre gonna have to find yourself
Another best friend, somehow.

Now, donīt you try anī move me,
Youīre just gonna lose.
Thereīs a crash on the levee
And, mama, youīve been refused.
Well, itīs sugar for sugar
And salt for salt,
If you go down in the flood,
Itīs gonna be your own fault.
Oh mama, ainīt you gonna miss your best friend now?
Youīre gonna have to find yourself
Another best friend, somehow.

Well, that high tideīs risinī,
Mama, donīt you let me down.
Pack up your suitcase,
Mama, donīt you make a sound.
Now, itīs king for king,
Queen for queen,
Itīs gonna be the meanest flood
That anybodyīs seen.
Oh mama, ainīt you gonna miss your best friend now?
Yes, youīre gonna have to find yourself
Another best friend, somehow.

Copyright Đ 1967; renewed 1995 Dwarf Music
Anonymous Coward
12/08/2005 10:20 AM
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Re: Crash on the levee, mama, Waterīs gonna overflow, Swampīs gonna rise, No boatīs gonna row.
More Republican bullshit from Bob Dylan.

Voted Republican from Goldwater to Bush.

Please, donīt use him as an example of righteousness.
Anonymous Coward
12/08/2005 10:20 AM
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Re: Crash on the levee, mama, Waterīs gonna overflow, Swampīs gonna rise, No boatīs gonna row.
I didnīt know that about Bob. He has risen in my estimation. Thanks. hugs
Anonymous Coward
12/08/2005 10:20 AM
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Re: Crash on the levee, mama, Waterīs gonna overflow, Swampīs gonna rise, No boatīs gonna row.
WOW that guy is smart, a city built 5ft below sea level on the coast......
The operator
12/08/2005 10:20 AM
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Re: Crash on the levee, mama, Waterīs gonna overflow, Swampīs gonna rise, No boatīs gonna row.
A Hard Rainīs A-Gonna Fall
Bob Dylan
C
Where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
G
Where have you been, my darling young one?
F G C
Iīve strayed on the side of twelve misty mountains.
Iīve walked and Iīve crawled on six crooked highways.
Iīve stepped in the middle of seven sad forestes.
Iīve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans.
Been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard.

[C]And itīs [G]hard, [C]hard, [F]hard, [C]hard -- itīs a [G]hard rainīs a-gonna [C]fall.

Oh, what did you see, my blue eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippinī
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a bleedinī
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And itīs a hard, and itīs a hard, itīs a hard, itīs a hard
And itīs a hard rainīs a gonna fall

And what did you hear, my blue eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warninī
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a blazinī
Heard ten thousand whisperinī and nobody listeninī
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughinī
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And itīs a hard, and itīs a hard, itīs a hard, itīs a hard
And itīs a hard rainīs a gonna fall

Oh, who did you meet, my blue eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded with hatred
And itīs a hard, itīs a hard, itīs a hard, itīs a hard
Itīs a hard rainīs a gonna fall

Oh, whatīll you do now, my blue eyed son?
Oh, whatīll you do now, my darling young one?
Iīm a goinī back out īfore the rain starts a fallinī
Iīll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
Where the executionerīs face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And Iīll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then Iīll stand on the ocean until I start sinkinī
But Iīll know my song well before I start singinī
And itīs a hard, itīs a hard, itīs a hard, itīs a hard
Itīs a hard rainīs a gonna fall



Heīs a TOID
Anonymous Coward
12/08/2005 10:20 AM
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Re: Crash on the levee, mama, Waterīs gonna overflow, Swampīs gonna rise, No boatīs gonna row.
Dylan is not a fucking Republican. Just listen to his music, for Godīs sake. After Paul Wellstone died he dedicated songs to him in concert.
Anonymous Coward
12/08/2005 10:20 AM
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Re: Crash on the levee, mama, Waterīs gonna overflow, Swampīs gonna rise, No boatīs gonna row.
Iīve read his autobiography. Have you?

He loved Goldwater and always voted republican.
Anonymous Coward
12/08/2005 10:20 AM
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Re: Crash on the levee, mama, Waterīs gonna overflow, Swampīs gonna rise, No boatīs gonna row.
Chronicles holds its share of known facts - That he idolized Woody Guthrie, for example - but it also has its share of surprises - that he feels kin to Ricky Nelson (!) and that his "favorite politician was … Barry Goldwater" (!!). And both will please the reader equally as he tells his tale in a meandering, colorful manner that never feels forced in any way.



Chronicles, Volume One

from Dylan de Thomas

by Bob Dylan

Guide Rating -


"Dylan Speaks!" is the headline of many a review of Bob Dylanīs new memoir Chronicles Volume One, echoing the famed exhortation marketing Greta Garbo in her first talkie. After reading his book, one can almost imagine Dylan speaking in a Swedish accent and - hand to forehead - "I want to be alone." And, honestly, you canīt blame him; heīd had his fill. Coming as he did in the era immediately following Elvis and Beatlemania with the screaming thousands, the Hard Days Night-esque car chases, and the fans sleeping in his hotel hallways, Dylan had something extra. In addition to all that mess, Dylan had the misfortune of being called the Voice of His Generation, and people took him very, very seriously. From A. J. Weberman (the famed "Dylanologist," infamous for going through Dylanīs trash looking to expose Dylanīs "secrets") to the "goons that were breaking into [his] house all hours of the night," Dylan had his hands full.




The story that Dylan tells, then, is one of escaping and one of discovery. Escaping the "gate-crashers [and] demagogues" following him from his home in Woodstock and beyond, to discovering himself as "Bob Dylan," from a boy from the small town of Hibbing, Minnesota to the streets of Greenwich Village. He bookends the tale with his recounting of his own birth as an artist and - tellingly - fills the middle with two famed fallow periods. The first about the circumstances surrounding his 1970 record New Morning and the second about the recording of his 1989 effort, Oh Mercy.

Chronicles holds its share of known facts - That he idolized Woody Guthrie, for example - but it also has its share of surprises - that he feels kin to Ricky Nelson (!) and that his "favorite politician was … Barry Goldwater" (!!). And both will please the reader equally as he tells his tale in a meandering, colorful manner that never feels forced in any way.



Though New Morning is certainly not an embarrassment, (and when said it is, one is called to mind Bruce Springsteenīs speech at Dylanīs induction to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame saying "that if there was another young guy out there writing … īEvery Grain of Sandī they would be calling him the new Bob Dylan.") it also couldnīt be said to be his finest hour. And Oh Mercy, while amazing in comparison to Down in the Groove (the LP that preceded it), pales a bit placed next to Blonde on Blonde or Blood on the Tracks - which is the point Dylan is making. He takes pains to state that he knows what he did, and that he wants his audience to know that it was contextual, that he couldnīt make it happen again if he tried. And he has. In a 1978 interview, he speaks of trying to capture that "thin, wild mercury sound" that he had with Blonde again with the somewhat unfairly maligned Street Legal. Whatever one might think of "The Changing of the Guards," off Street, itīs easy enough to notice that it isnīt "Visions of Johanna." And Dylan knows it.



That said, he seems to have moved past the inert period of his career and the creative resurgence that he hints at in the recording of Oh Mercy is still in evidence today. That heīs still making vibrant albums such as "Love and Theft" and even writing and starring in a movie (Masked and Anonymous) is impressive - all the more when compared to his contemporaries.

When Dylan writes that he read through Guthrieīs Bound for Glory "like a hurricane, totally focused on every word, and the book sang out to me like the radio" itīs not surprising. And not because he ended up somewhat of an acolyte of Guthrieīs, but rather the tone of Chronicles echoes the prose of Bound in many ways. From the rambling style to the fantastic (possibly apocryphal) tales that he weaves, he is still paying homage to his teenage hero. As a fan of Dylanīs it would be hard to read Chronicles with any less fervor.
Anonymous Coward
12/08/2005 10:20 AM
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Re: Crash on the levee, mama, Waterīs gonna overflow, Swampīs gonna rise, No boatīs gonna row.
It was clear to me that Bob Zimmerman created this character Dylan as a mask that gave him the courage to stand in front of people and sing the way he did. They always expected Dylan to be something he wasnīt.

Dylan never knew how to explain this without appearing like a fraud, so he simply kept his mouth shut for 40 years. And nothing tells a legend like a shut mouth.

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